


Mirrorball of Death

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Betting Book Tales [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Humor, robot gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: It was like the universe's most dangerous game of look-don't-touch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bibliotecaria_D](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotecaria_D/gifts).



> Holiday gift to the prompt of: everyone stop and appreciate Sunstreaker's body, face, and fine, fine aft.

[ Grimlock, twin to your left. Starscream is over your right shoulder, aim high, ] Prowl sent over the battlefield frequency.

Prowl loathed this particular method of bringing fliers down. It put one or the other of their best warriors up in the air where things like falls happened. And enemy fire. Friendly fire. _Geese_ , and no one that loved living reminded Sunstreaker about that one. Ever.

But as a last resort, throwing one or the other twin at the fliers was a never-fail prospect.

Grimlock, on the other hand, _loved_ this plan. Smokescreen whipped around just in time to watch Grimlock spin himself even as he transformed back to his root mode. He grabbed Sunstreaker in his huge, powerful hands, totally ignoring Sunstreaker’s muffled squawk of protest. Bodily flipping Sunstreaker around into a projectile, Grimlock tossed him up and away like an angry, yellow javelin into the overcast sky.

Smokescreen would swear later that Starscream shrieked like a stripped gear when he tossed whatever stupid doomsday device it was _this_ time around at Sunstreaker. That was far enough off the usual reaction to stick in his head when he went to retelling this story. And Sunstreaker, being Sunstreaker, tried to catch it.

Continuing the trend of unexpected happenings, it shattered against his chest plate. A mass of glittery, golden goo erupted around the strike point, bypassing the laws of physics as Smokescreen understood them, and completely enveloped Sunstreaker as he hit the apogee of his flight. Then physics as normal resumed and Sunstreaker flew through the bubble of sticky gold and sailed onward.

Starscream squawked and banked hard to his left. The gloop dropped like the gelatinous mass it was. Sunstreaker triggered his parachute. Prowl’s voice crackled a warning over the comm. And no one paid any of that any mind at all because in the way of these things, the sun came out _right then_.

Whatever that stuff had been, Sunstreaker shone much like his namesake in the sudden burst of its light.

Smokescreen had always had an appreciation for Sunstreaker’s hands-off beauty. Pit, even old Ironhide could be caught ogling from time to time. Those fairings tapered to such a graspable size, framing a face that promised a mech would beg for it as he murdered them. That wide, intimidating chest curved inward, enticingly sharp, at his waist. Strong, perfectly molded legs met up at a pelvic cradle designed for delight.

No one, of course, dared actually tap that aft, but golly, it was a thing to behold.

Now with him glowing like a miniature star flying overhead, the skirmish stilled into a tableau of mechs craning their heads upward. Smokescreen wondered how many were daydreaming, even knowing Sunstreaker would take hands off for even thinking about marring his finish. No one _could_ touch him up there anyway.

Well, almost no one.

A whoop went up from the other side of the battlefield turned still-life. A new bubble of a familiar and malevolent rainbow burst into existence below him, resolving into Skywarp. The seeker plucked him up out of the air, clutched him tight, and crowed, “Shiny!”

And then he disappeared, taking Sunstreaker with him.

Well, _frag_.

“Megatron! You get that underclocked seeker of yours back here with my mech this instant! Or you’ll have one less seeker tomorrow!” Optimus Prime barked. He broke apart from grappling with Megatron, and that movement woke the now-shocked gaggle of previously fighting mechs into milling confusion.

Battle over. Oh, well.

“You wouldn’t dare kill Skywarp, Prime!”

“No, but Sunstreaker will. Get him back now!” Optimus stamped his foot and clunked his hands on his hips.

Megatron looked down at Optimus with narrowed optics.

Optimus began, “I’m warning you --”

That weird, sick rainbow bubble exploded into a writhing mass of gold and purple not ten feet above Megatron’s head. Screams cut the air, and the roiling pair dropped onto both generals. Neither managed to duck, but as they scrambled to up, each grabbed the nearest fighting mech and _pulled_.

They came apart with a shriek of tearing metal and glass, and Sunstreaker, still glowing and golden in sun’s light, tumbled back into Megatron’s lap as he fell. He had part of Skywarp’s canopy dangling from his bared denta, dripping fresh energon onto that lovely chest plate. Half-painted in the gold gloop and bleeding now, Skywarp moaned pathetically in Optimus’ grip. His hands clutched over his own wounded chest. Make that one hand. Snarling, Sunstreaker smacked the other into Megatron’s face and shoved himself free from the warlord’s hold.

“Fragitall, Megatron, I _told_ you!” Optimus growled, handing Skywarp to a snickering Starscream.

"I'm in love," the wounded seeker mumbled at his leader.

Optimus slapped his hand over his face, and Megatron groaned. Smokescreen watched Sunstreaker's optics narrow thoughtfully.

Welp. New book.


End file.
